Never Fall for Your Back-Up Guy by Kate O’Keeffe

 

Prologue

“It’s not you, it’s me.”

My full glass is raised mid-way to my lips, and I blink in disbelief across the sticky wooden Soho pub table at Zack, the guy I’ve been seeing for almost two months (well, six weeks and five days, but let’s not get pedantic here). “What did you say?” I squeak, my voice piercing the hum of chatter and music—some 80s ballad about never giving up on love we’d been laughing about only moments ago.

It feels a touch ironic now.

Zack runs his fingers through his mop of sandy blonde hair, his lips pulled into a thin line. “You see the thing is, Zara, you’re at this place in your life that is really great and everything, and I think you’re great. Totally great.”

So far so…great.

“It’s just I’m not in that place. Even though one day I’m sure I will be. But not now. Or any time soon, really. I’m in a different place altogether. You know?”

Uh, no?

“What are you talking about exactly? You lost me several places ago.” I smile, making light of the conversation, despite being pretty sure what’s about to come next.

“Okay. I’ll get it straight for you. You’re here,” he cups his hands as they hover over the table, “And I’m over here.” He moves his hands to the opposite side. “See all this space in between us? That’s the gulf between our respective places, and neither of us can cross that gulf because, well, there are man-eating crocodiles between us. Got it?”

“Man-eating crocodiles?” I arch my brows. “So, I should be fine, what with not being a man and all.”

“Ha! You’re funny. I forgot about that.”

I refocus the conversation. “You know when you said, ‘it’s not you, it’s me,’ it sounded a lot like you were breaking up with me.” I let out a high-pitched laugh to show him exactly how ridiculous the notion is that we’re breaking up. We’re Zara and Zack. Zack and Zara. We’re not breaking up. When we first got together, I loved the way our names sounded like we were a pop duo from the 70s. And I thought we had something.

Zack, it would seem, doesn’t agree.

His face doesn’t crack. “I definitely want you in my life.” His brows are pulled together in concern as he reaches for my hand.

I let out a relieved—and frankly surprised—puff of air. “Good to know. You really had me going there for a bit.”

“It’s just—”

Right. He hasn’t finished.

“—you’re in this place over here where you want like, commitment, and I’m in this place over here—” He begins gesturing about his dang places once more.

I burst out with an irritated, “Enough with the places!”

People at the neighbouring tables tilt their heads in our direction. I ignore them. Instead, I force myself to calm down before I shoot him a tense smile. “I’m not sure that visual works for me.”

“Really? Because it works for me.”

Clearly.

I lay my hands on the sticky table, think better of it, lift them back up, and say, “Are you breaking up with me?”

He scrunches up his nose and replies, “In a manner of speaking…yeah.”

Hope shrivels up inside of me. “I see.”

“But I still want you in my life, you know, as more than a friend. Like, a hot friend. You know?”

“A hot friend?”

What did I ever see in this guy?

“Just because we’re not together doesn’t mean we can’t…you know. Whenever we want to.”

My eyebrows ping up to meet my hairline. “Are you seriously telling me you’re breaking up with me and you want me to be your booty call?”

“Would that be so bad?” he questions.

I rise to my feet suddenly, surprising even myself. My chair falls crashing to the ground, and I know half the pub is now gawking at me. “Yes, Zack, it would be bad. Very, very bad.”

He shrugs. “Your call, Zara, but you know it makes sense.”

I grab my handbag from the back of the fallen chair, and am forced to wrestle with it when it tangles up. Heat bursts across my cheeks. “No, it doesn’t make sense,” I reply, trying to reclaim some control in the situation, even though I have less than none. “No sense at all. You can stay in your ‘place,’ and I’ll happily stay in mine. I just hope the man-eating crocodiles don’t work out they can crawl over to you.”

“Don’t be like that. You haven’t even finished your drink.”

I eye the untouched glass of wine on the table. My hand twitches. It would be so easy to pick it up and throw it in his face like a Real Housewife right now. I resist the urge. I may have been dumped, but I still have my dignity.

So instead, I say, “See you later,” without meaning to see him ever again, then turn on my heel and storm out of the pub, my cheeks aflame with humiliation. Once outside, I take a gulping breath of the cool evening air.

How could he do this to me? Didn’t we have something? We were Zara and Zack. We were good together.

Weren’t we?

I storm down the busy street toward the Tube stop with anger, humiliation, and regret duking it out for pole position in my head.

Anger wins, but only by a fraction.

As I round the corner, I begin to slow my pace.

If I’m totally honest with myself, Zack wasn’t that great a boyfriend. Not really. He was pretty self-absorbed and we didn’t have a whole lot in common. I mean, I tried to like his taste in music, but listening to someone screech at the top of their lungs into a mic about how they feel about pirates—seriously, it’s a thing—just isn’t my scene, no matter how long he spent trying to convince me.

I reach the Tube stop, flash my Oyster card as I sail through the turnstiles, and step onto the downward escalator.

Normally, I wouldn’t take a breakup with a guy I’ve known a couple of months quite so hard. I mean, it’s not like we’d been dating for years and talked about having a future together or anything. In fact, up until this time last year I approached life with an attitude that screamed live in the moment. I was all about doing what I wanted and having fun with it. Getting serious with a guy—especially one into pirate rock—wasn’t even a passing thought.

And then something happened.

I got old.

Okay, not old old. I’m not ninety-five or anything. I turned twenty-nine, that joke age, the last year of being officially young. People told me it could happen, I could change. And I did.

I got serious.

I grew up.

I know, right? Me, carefree, happy, confident Zara Huntington-Ross. Fun loving, never thinking about tomorrow. Just living my life one enjoyment-filled day at a time.

And then suddenly, I began to focus on things like my interior design career and went into partnership with my friend Scarlett, the most driven person I know. Going to parties with my besties, Tabitha, Lottie, Kennedy, and Asher, became less important. Heck, I even stayed in some Saturday nights, choosing instead to go to my childhood home and hang out with the family. Me, voted most likely to have a good time in high school—okay only by my friends. But still.

And dating? Dating became less of a sport and more of a search for The One.

Which led me to Zack and his pirate music.

I arrive on the platform and a train swooshes into the station. Stepping on board, I find a seat and plonk myself down heavily in it. A guy in a kilt, who looks like a poor imitation of Jamie from Outlander, checks me out across the aisle. I shoot him a thanks but no thanks smile, and stare out the window at the blackness as the train whizzes through underground tunnels.

Now, at almost thirty, it feels like my time is running out. I’m not a kid anymore. If I want it all—career, husband, tribe of kids, a couple of dogs and a chicken coop out the back—I need to meet someone. The problem is, I keep meeting jerks like Zack who aren’t in the same “place” as me, guys who have the luxury of not having a biological clock ticking like a bongo drum in their head.

As I sit, I do what I always do when I need someone to talk to. I pull out my phone and start to tap out an email. I need to think this through, I need to find a solution.

I need my dad.

Dear Dad,I begin.

You know how I dated a bunch of guys you didn’t approve of? Remember you always said they were only up for a laugh, not the kind of guys you wanted to see your daughter with? Well, I hate to say it, but you were right.

But don’t go gloating or anything.

For the first time in my life, I want something more than they can offer me. I want to meet a man who will sweep me off my feet, like you did with Mum.

How do I find the right guy?

How do I find a man like you?

I could really do with your help.

Miss you. Love you.

Your Za-Za xoxo

I stareat the screen for a moment before I hit send, then I lean against the back of the vinyl seat. The wannabe Outlander Jamie shoots me another look, so I close my eyes and work on the basis that if I can’t see him, he can’t see me.

Mature, I know.

Searching for The One is hard. Like really, really hard.

If only there was a way to know that if I fail in my attempt to find love, I could still get what I want. I’m talking the marriage, the kids, the dogs and chickens. Definitely the dogs and chickens.

What I need is a safety net, someone to fall back on in case my quest to find The One fails.

And then it hits me like a punch to the solar plexus. I need a back-up guy. Yes! That’s what I need. I need a guy I can rely on to be there for me when all else fails. I need someone to catch me if I fall, someone I like, someone I know, someone who I could imagine having all the stuff I want with, even when there’s no romantic love.

The train comes to a screeching, lurching halt, and I glance out the window. Fulham Broadway. My stop.

I step off the train and join the line of people making their way up to the footpath, lost in thought. Up on the street, I pass by a restaurant I see every day and the delicious aroma of garlic naan bread and Indian spices hits my nostrils. My belly rumbles in the hopes of being fed. With my date with Zack cut short, I’d totally skipped dinner.

I look up at the sign and read the name, Bollywood Star. I make a snap decision. A chicken tikka masala and garlic naan bread will definitely go some way to healing my heart. Or at least filling my stomach.

As I head towards the entryway, I glance in the window and do a double take. Asher McMillan, one of my closest friends, is sitting at a table. At over six feet tall with creamy olive skin, a square jaw, and thick dark hair, he’s hard to miss. My sister-in-law, Emma, always says he looks like Taylor Lautner in Twilight, only with his shirt on. And she’s right (about his looks and his shirt). His five o’clock shadow accentuates his jawline, and his deep brown eyes are always full of mischief. Right now, they’re trained on his date, a cheerleader type with bouncy blonde hair and eyelashes so thick and long they must be giving her eyelids a decent workout with each and every flutter.

And she sure is fluttering them at him right now.

But my mind’s on other things.

Asher is the perfect back-up guy for me. Not only is he one of my BFFs and a whole heap of fun to be around, he’s not looking for anything serious right now—although he wants to settle down at some stage in the future. I know, because he’s told me himself. But for now, he’s playing the field, enjoying being a young, hot American guy in London and all that it brings.

What’s more, he’s a great guy. He gets me. He’ll know it’s just a safety net thing, nothing serious. He’ll know I’m looking for The One.

I lift my hand to wave and as his gaze locks with mine, his eyebrows shoot up before his handsome face morphs into a grin. I make a gesture that tells him I’m coming in to crash his date, then enter the restaurant and make my way through the tables to where he’s sitting.

He stands to greet me with a quick hug and a broad grin on his face. “I told you to stop stalking me, Zee. Seriously, this is getting weird.”

My giggle ends in a snort. “As if I’d ever bother to stalk you.”

“Well, you’re meant to be on your own date with Zeke or Zane or whatever his name is right now, and yet here you are crashing mine.”

“It’s Zack, and we broke up.”

“Should I be sad about that?”

I press my lips together and shake my head.

“Good, because I hated the guy.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Uh, yeah, I did. He was an idiot.”

“Ash, you only met him that one time.”

“And he spent the entire time looking at himself in the mirror.”

I cast my mind back to when I introduced Zack to my friends. It was at my local pub where the walls are lined with mirrors. “He thought he had something caught in his beard,” I protest.

“The whole night?” Asher questions.

“Ahem.”

In sync, we both turn to look at Asher’s date, who is gazing up at us from her seat at the table with a look of annoyance on her pretty face.

“Hi there. Remember me?” she says sweetly—with an edge.

“Sorry,” Asher replies. “This is my friend, Zara. Zara this is—” He pauses mid-sentence, and I know he’s searching for the poor girl’s name. After too long he lands on, “Caroline,” and lets out a relieved puff of air. “Zara, this is Caroline, my date for the evening.”

Her features pinched, she cocks an eyebrow in his direction. “It’s Carolyn, not Caroline.”

“Gosh, I’m so sorry. It must be my accent. American.”

Her features soften as her lips spread into a smile. “That’s okay. Your accent is so cute.”

He dazzles her with his smile and inside I roll my eyes. Okay, I roll them on the outside, too, because this is so typically Asher. He’s handsome and charming enough to get away with forgetting his date’s name. Whereas I remember every last detail about my date and still get dumped.

The world is not a fair place.

“Aw, thanks,” Asher replies, and they share a look that makes me want to vomit.

“Carolyn, would you mind if I borrowed Asher for a sec? I just need to ask him a quick question and then he’s all yours. I promise.”

Her eyes dart between Asher and me, clearly deciding whether to let us go. In the end she must decide I’m no threat. She nods and says, “Yeah, but don’t hog him for too long.”

“I won’t.” I tug on Asher’s arm and lead him over towards the exit.

“Are you making me abandon my date?” he asks as I push through the door to the street. “Because it was going pretty well.”

Out on the footpath, I turn to face him. “If only you could remember her name. I’m sure you’ve never pronounced Carolyn as Caroline in your life.”

He shrugs. “I thought I did well to get her name in the ballpark.” He lets out a light laugh before he says, “As much as I love to be dragged out of restaurants by beautiful women, can you tell me what this is all about? I am meant to be on a date with a very attractive woman whose name may or may not be Caroline.”

I cut right to the chase. There’s no need to beat about the bush with this. “Asher, I need you to be my back-up guy.”

His eyes widen into dinner plates. “I’m sorry, your what now?”

“My back-up guy. You know, if neither of us are married by a certain age, we’ll get married.”

He erupts into laughter, showing his perfect rows of pearly whites as he throws his head back. “Zara, are you drunk?” he questions.

I cross my arms. This is not the reaction I was hoping for. “No.”

“Are you high?”

“No!”

“What’s going on with you then? I mean, it’s not every day a girl drags you away from your date and proposes marriage.”

I let out an exasperated breath. “I’m not proposing marriage.”

“Kinda sounds like it to me.”

“All I’m saying is that we should be each other’s back-up person. That way, if neither of us find The One, we can still have kids and marriage and all that stuff.”

“Wow, Zara, I had no idea you felt this way about me.”

I bat him on the arm. “Could you drop the jokes for one second please and listen to me?”

“Okay. Fire away, girl who wants to marry me.” He pulls his lips into a line so as to stifle his smile. It doesn’t work.

I shoot him a pointed look. “Just so we’re clear, I’m not proposing. You would be a back-up, nothing more. If I can’t find the love of my life, we’ll get married as an absolute last resort.”

“You sure know how to sweet talk a guy.”

“You see that’s the thing. I don’t need to sweet talk you because I only want you as a kind of safety net. I’m not in love with you, I don’t want to shag you, or marry you, or have your babies.”

He makes a knife through the heart gesture. “Ouch. That hurts.”

“You’re not in love with me and you don’t want to shag me, either, so let’s not go getting all dramatic here. Let me tell you what I want.”

“What you really, really want?” he teases, quoting my favourite 90s girl band, the Spice Girls.

I ignore his joke as I begin to pace up and down the footpath, excitement mounting over the genius of my plan. “You see, I want to fall in love with someone. Deeply in love. I want the kind of love I’ve never had, the kind that sweeps you off your feet. The kind of love that eats up everything in your head and your heart.”

“You want your Big Love.”

“Yes! The problem is, I’ve been looking for a year now and I’ve not found it.”

“A year isn’t that long.”

“I know, but it’s my birthday next week and —”

“And you’re freaking out,” he finishes for me, and I give a reluctant nod. “Thirty ain’t so bad, Zara. Believe me, it’s not. I think you’ll survive it, just like I did. With or without me as your back-up guy.”

“It’s different for a woman, Asher. We’ve got these biological clocks ticking away that get louder and louder every day.”

“Can’t you invest in some earplugs?”

My laugh is full of exasperation. What I love about Asher—his fun nature, his ability to make light of things—is making this so much harder than I thought it would be right now. “Can you please be serious for just a minute?”

His smile drops. “Sure. Go ahead.”

“I’d give it, I don’t know, five years? Yeah, that feels right. By then I’ll be turning thirty-five and that’s plenty of time to find the man of my dreams, and still be able to have a bunch of kids and dogs and chickens before it’s too late.”

He arches his brows. “Chickens? In Fulham?”

“I’ll move to the country,” I reply with a wave of my hand. “So, what do you say?” I regard him through hopeful eyes. He’s got to say yes.

“That’s five years and one week.”

“Yup.”

“And you’ll actively search for your Big Love.”

“Yup.”

“And we both date whomever we want between now and then.”

“That’s right.”

He studies my face for a beat as I hold my breath, then extends his hand. “Deal.”

Happiness bubbles up and bursts out of me as I fling my arms around his neck and pepper his cheeks with kisses. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

He laughs as he darts a look through the window at his date and then peels my hands from around his neck. “Maybe a little less with the public displays until we’re married. Okay, wifey?”

I let out an excited giggle. “You won’t have to marry me, you know.”

His lips stretch into a smile. “A guy can only hope.”

I give him another quick hug before I say goodbye and throw a contented smile through the window at Carolyn. As he returns to his table, I purchase my takeaways, and then trip on light feet down the street to my flat.

Lying on my bed in my PJs an hour later, I tap out another email before I switch the light off and fall asleep.

Dear Dad,

Ignore my last email. I’ve got a fix. I’ve got my safety net. And soon, I just know I’ll have my Big Love.

Miss you. Love you.

Your Za-Za xoxo